Not Leaving Me
by Sergeant Major Valkyrie
Summary: "I'm so proud that you're my ancestor... And nothing I ever do could be thanks enough for all of it," Connor's mouth opens, but he cuts over him before the Native can say anything. "I know what I have to do. It's clear now. I can only hope that you don't hate me forever for it if you even remember."


It was his fault. Connor had been hurt. It was _all his fault_. The worst part was, Connor wasn't even _mad_ at him! Desmond curses again around gritted teeth, helping to wrap what he'd made meager bandages out of tighter around his ancestor's shoulder. His hands shake, all but stained with Connor's blood while said Native tries to get his attention with soft words, but he can't listen. It's all his fault, dammit!

"No, it isn't, Desmond." Shit, he'd said that out loud.  
"Desmond," Connor tries again, with the same reaction, or rather, lack of one. Desmond manages to tie off the knot holding the last bit of bandaging together when Connor's voice cuts sharply across his conscience, his hands grabbing and stilling Desmond's own, ceasing the trembling in them by default. "Desmond!" He made Desmond look at him, in the eyes. He could not have Desmond carry this guilt into the battle. It would have him killed.

"It is not your fault. Do you understand? It is not your fault, so stop blaming yourself. I'm fine. I have had worse, and you know this." He instructed Desmond to simply find them horses so that they could move faster across the landscape, getting himself on his feet with nary a grimace. It was plenty of time for Desmond to start thinking. And think, he did, until it hit with sudden clarity that had the air rushing from his lungs in a 'whoosh' that he hopes Connor didn't notice over the sounds of their horses cantering. When he urges his steed to a slow halt before a clearing, however, Connor looks back in confusion, coming over until they're side by side, horses facing opposite directions.

What is it?" The Mohawk asks. Desmond looks away for a second, a lump forming in his throat until it turns painful. This would hurt.  
"Connor, I..." He swallows, forcing his eyes to connect with warm browns, so similar to his own, curious and worried in a way that Desmond doesn't deserve. "I've learned a lot with you, being here, doing this instead of watching it all happen through your eyes. I feel _strong_. Like I never have before, ever. It's thanks to you. I can't tell you how much it means to me. You, this life, your people, have taught me so much and I wouldn't trade it for the world. I'm..." His eyes sting, and he knows it's too late to hide it because Connor is already reaching for him like he can't even help it, his brows furrowed in further confusion.

He pauses, though, when Desmond manages to croak out the next few words.

"I'm so proud that you're my ancestor... And nothing I ever do could be thanks enough for all of it," Connor's mouth opens, but he cuts over him before the Native can say anything.

"I know what I have to do. It's clear now. I can only hope that you don't hate me forever for it if you even remember." Recognition dawns on Connor, but by the time he's even saying "no", Desmond has already swung off his horse, the bag holding the Apple cradled in his arm as he books it to the clearing.  
 _"No!"_ Connor's bellow is frantic, the sheer panic in his tone shaking Desmond to the core. But he can't stop. This is how it has to be. He would die. He would die, in his time, to save the earth from annihilation.

"Ah, so you are finally ready to accept your destiny," Juno's voice grates on his nerves, but he pulls the Apple out of the bag anyway, glaring at her.

"You've left me not much choice, you evil bitch. I'm dying for humanity, not for you." Juno's lips twitch.

"Your ancestor would have it otherwise. But even he cannot stop this. Use the Apple, and quickly now." Desmond sighs, the artifact heavy in his hand. He lifts it to activate it, but he's suddenly thrown off balance by a hulking force that knocks him to the forest floor with a grunt. He's faced with the enraged, hurt, wild face of Connor Kenway as he wrestles the Apple out of Desmond's grip, throwing it to the dirt with a strength that rips a grunt from him. It's a damn miracle it didn't shatter. He gasps as Connor hauls him to his feet roughly, already shaking him by the collar as he snarls in his face like an angry wolf.

"You are _not_ leaving me to die!"

He's never seen Connor so angry before in his life, not even the last memory he'd seen with the Native essentially threatening both Haytham and George Washington himself. His eyes get wider, unable to tear themselves away from Connor's sharpened brown, almost golden gaze as he continues, once again shaking him even with an injured shoulder.

"The world can burn if it means your life in exchange for its salvation. I am never letting you go again. Not _ever_ again. Don't you understand? None of the burdens of your time can touch you here! And you want to go _back?_ Back to a father who is as much like my own as possible, back to people who would sooner use you for their advancement in a perpetual war of ideals, breaking your mind? And you," Connor turns his ferocity onto the First Civilization woman, who had been passively watching the entire exchange, but her mask is cracking.

"You gave me my first vision of this man I would meet and now you are ripping him from me. How dare you," he hisses. "You've set him up to be the means to your end! Well I will not let you have your way. He is my descendant, he is _mine_. And if I must destroy your artifact to keep him safe and destroy your plans, I will do what must be done. Do I look like I am lying?" At her lack of response, Connor turns his attention back to Desmond, who by now, is too shocked to do or say anything. His eyes flick between Desmond's, his vulnerability finally baring.

"Don't you see? We were meant to meet. The spirits showed me you. You put me on this path! Everything means what it should, the world is as it should be when you are by my side. Do not make it all for naught... don't leave me without a purpose in this place," Connor's voice cracks, his hand reaching to cup Desmond's cheek. The warmth of him is more than Desmond can bear.

Yes. He wants to _stay_. He wants to go hunting in the woods with Connor while dew still clung to everything, take his intimate teachings of how to hold a bow and correctly nock and shoot the arrow to kill with his chest to Desmond's back, his fingers tweaking his arms and smoothing over the lines of his shoulders while his soft voice rumbles close to his ear. He wants to sit around a bonfire with Connor's tribe singing and laughing around them over game meat while his ancestor's eyes burn into him, feathers and beads in his hair. He wants to spar with him in the late afternoon, not trying as hard to win as he and Connor both knew he should, just to enjoy the hard bulk of him above. He wants to make breakfast with the Native American at the Davenport mansion in the too-early morning when they're both too antsy to really sleep, smearing egg whites on each other and sharing amused smiles. He makes Connor smile. That fact almost causes him to start weeping right then. It does make him lean into his touch, watching as Connor's eyes light up hopefully.

Juno's scoff interrupts what response he might have garnered. Desmond tears his eyes away from the Mohawk's pleading, angry gaze. His jaw clenches at the pure impatience in her stance, as if this is all a mere inconvenience. She had absolutely no care for his life! Why should he have to give it to her in the hopes that it may or may not save the world? He stares at her, watching her lips twist with her arms crossed over her chest.

"You know something, Juno?" He says, already pulling away from Connor, patting the bear-like man on the chest when he makes to restrain him. He bends to pick up the artifact, and shoves it unceremoniously into the bag. It would stay there if he had it his way. Desmond looks her in the eyes, unblinking.

"Find someone else to do your dirty work. I'm through. Go screw yourself." Juno's lips pull back in a snarl, and he turns just in time to see Connor's shoulders lose a great bit of the tension that had been there since he tackled Desmond like a professional linebacker, the relief in his face. He reaches for the smaller man when he comes nearer, glaring wordlessly at the woman. As they're mounting their horses again, though, Desmond gives her one last acknowledgment. "Oh yeah, if you talk to my dad, tell him he shares my DNA; _he_ can do the job just fine since I'm not coming back." Satisfied with her enraged glare, he nods at Connor and spurs his horse into motion. It's time to finish their fight.


End file.
